Luyện nghe bài hát Family Reunion

[Intro - BH - talking]
Uh oh!
It's that again
It's too long
It's family
We got to school to the game (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?)
You know let's talk to 'em (HUH?)
Let's go (IS WHAT YOU WANT?)

[Joe Budden - behind Killa BH]
Uh
Mic check, mic
Check, one two, one two

[DJ On Point -
already know what time it is (y'all already know what time it is)
Family (family reunion)
Ransom (Ransom), (Hitchcock), Fab (Fab), let's go

[Joe Budden - behind DJ On Point]
The is out niggaz, uh
Get 'em boy

[Verse 1 -
nobody tryin to rap or play me
I'll be at they crib with a couple hammers and a old AV
Black gonna pay me, get the smack off Baisley
Cause I'm more diesel than Shaq old lady
Boy, you did it, I it, I get it, I punish
The shit that I come with'll separate a rib from a
I'm the boss, when I spit it, you it
Matter fact, I'm a Viking, I need a village to plumage
Yeah, the nigga is here, the city is
You got the throne? I think I need to sit in your chair
We could really get physical
And the sky's the limit nigga, I put your clique in the air
Baby, so quit playin, 'fore the clips 'em
And his MIA like Nick Saban
His whole shit caved in, my clique cavemen
Hard nigga, my whole shit pavement
You can't spit if you dead in the
In the woods, where your be found
And it's good that you gettin it now, in the precinct it now
I can't with the rest of you clowns, faggot

2 - Hitchcock]
High in the silence the storm
Park, the Audubon
Slang rock on the same block the water on
I be than gone, run and get your order form
Next time I record a song, gon' put my on
Cause she realer than niggaz
I tote triggers, for you broke niggaz and gold diggers with no
That why I palm the heater, for all you
I'm on ass like white on Rice, I'm Condoleezza
Better con the preacher, you to get on a feature
get your casket bastard (why?), I'm gon' eat ya
We ain't in the same class
Your fake ass, couldn't stop a with brake pads
I'm way past, that you ever did
I'm better kid and we sweat a bid
easy to get a cig
In the bing, I'm like Rhames, I bring pain
I sling 'caine off the like I'm King James
Y'all doubtin
When I spit the whole lead, they be Code Red, like Mountain Dew
'Fore I to two, you could get your back blown (OH!)
your chemic's out of minutes like a TracFone (NIGGA!)
Get back homes, I'm on my shit
I don't mingle, I'm Pringles, stackin my chips
Clappin my fifth, you the me type'
Comin out with a "Blade" to get sniped
So the cops could arrest me, right? not happenin
You ain't ever gonna get on, so rappin
(H20) this summer, so stop askin
All heat like Wall Street, your crashin
Now the want to read his rights
Lord have mercy, Jesus Christ, I got
I'm black and all my niggaz gettin this
We in the Chevy and to pop tags and (what? OH!)

[Chorus - Joe - w/ ad libs]
So whatever you tryin to do little niggaz (niggaz), I already (done)
And you want to live by it little nigga (nigga), then die by the gun (gun)
See whatever you to do little nigga, I've already done (done)
So how the fuck you gon' win little (nigga), I've already won (won)

[Verse 3 -
Like we do it, d-d-damn
Yes (yes), go (yes), uh huh
Aiyyo, money is the root of all I thought
But when I'm broke is usually when I have the evilest
That's when the come out, like sleeves when it's short
With bullets than your favorite wide receiver has caught
And that Randy Mossberg, ya Steve Smith & ya
Your pop up like Instant Messenger
You've got mail, naw you got shells
And my Mac, you use for iChat
I've got that, confused will lie flat
And my gat is on leg like tat
I nigga, who you dudes
Some broke niggaz who tryin to get youtube views
So 'less you a point blank, boy you're too close
Bail's in pocket, this is Lou Los
I'm pretty more hotties seen me in that four door ridey
pipes like a sawed off shotty, nigga

(IS WHAT YOU WANT?)

4 - Joe Budden]
Look, I flow sickly, ridin, bumpin old
Roll with me or lose weight, Nicole
Fuck plat, if I don't diamond fame
I treat a face like the old Simon game
out why men try us
Cause we OD on rims and tires, for that we Len Bias
All it is a punch
He ain't brave, he a
I'll put his in boxes, meet the Brady Bunch
How y'all yourselves?
Should kill yourselves, us don't need you, you Bill Parcells
And you ain't got to empty pockets when the K's out
Whatever you holdin is mine, you my
See I don't get how guy is a threat
I his life inept for a pie to the neck
Ride or die, if you both nigga, ride to the
I acappella the whole left of his chest
Not retirin, still got pension pendin
to pop the hood and see the engine missin
Double barrelled shotgun, have men get missin
She got pretty brown and she in mint condition
Oh the cig in the car, you en moi
Take the ratchet go and just Chris Benoit
I tell a bird like it is, you the broad
I one her (you), you Isiah Thomas the broad
I could a clique cartridge at a nemesis target
And catch a ROR on some 6 charges (naw)
Naw, I'll put this thing
I even need a whole hairdo to flip 'em, all it take is one finger wave
Been in the bing for days, you how I'm real
home to the truck with the Optimus Prime grill
Handed out crack, got the scene off
They not sleepin on 'em, the is noddin off
For real, me how you a thug and you Superman (nigga)
I just you in the club doin the Superman (nigga)
A bunch of homes
All I need in this world is the pound chrome, Huxtable brown
Major (I mean), cake by the layers
If these is live, I'm the Creative Player
They callin 'em 'Kings' when so so hot
Something's wrong that picture, must be Photoshop
I don't promote violence, but when sparkin the - BLAM
start wavin like the Carlton Banks dance
When them tools go pop, it move blocks
Come with your dog and get Cujo shot
These MC's is lame, I try to be an MC with
These is MC Brains
nice, rappers is far from bein nice
I'm on the rooftop recordin, and is bein sniped
like

[Chorus - w/ ad

[Outro - DJ On Point - talking - w/ Killa BH ad libs in
Shout to the BSC (whole BSC)
Shout to my nigga Dru
SlimeBugz, DJ
The Don (The Don), Dre (Dre Bless)
DJ Baby Dru (DJ Dru)
My nigga